A Birthday Celebration
by PsychedelicCowgirl
Summary: Chris and Buck make an interesting discovery about their respective birthdays. What follows is a month filled with a little too much celebrating and a tiny bit of self-reflection. Pre-series
1. June 30th

June 30th

"I said take it easy." The voice definitely sounded perturbed. "Trying to ride out of town is the exact opposite of taking it easy."

Chris Larabee didn't respond to the lecture; just grit his teeth as the needle pierced his flesh again. It was the second time in less than twenty-four hours the doctor had stitched the wound on his thigh closed, and the second time was no more pleasant than the first time had been.

There were some things in life that never got easier no matter how many times one had to suffer through them. Being sewn up was one of those things. Feeling the sickening sensation of catgut running through his skin again, Chris clenched his hands into fists and cursed the saddle tramp who'd stuck him, the horse he'd rode in on, and the bloody hog sticker the man had carried.

"Rest," the doctor continued. "I don't know why you people find it so hard to understand the word. Bad enough when I have to patch one of you up after those weekend brawls without having to turn around and do the same thing the next day."

Again Chris said nothing. Honestly, he was afraid if he opened his mouth to reply to any of the doctor's statements he would give voice to his not inconsiderable discomfort. Already certain that the man was getting too much enjoyment out of this episode, Chris was determined to remain silent.

A slight altercation in the saloon had earned Chris his latest war wound. Last night the doctor had cleaned it, sewn it up, and then given instructions for Chris to take it easy. Chris had done just that, for a few hours anyway. Earlier today he'd decided that he was fit enough to ride, and had been ready to head on down the trail. He'd quickly found out he was no near as hale and hardy as he'd thought. By the time he'd gathered his things and got to the livery, he'd popped about half of the dozen stitches Doc had put in the night before. Now here he was, getting sewn up again, and getting chewed out for having to get sewn up again.

"Rest," the doctor said again as he tied off the last stitch. "And I mean that, young man. I don't want to see you in here again tomorrow."

"Yeah," Chris muttered trying, and failing, to ignore the burning in his leg. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, particularly this conversation.

"Uhhh, how long should he take it easy?" The question came from Buck Wilmington.

Chris had met up with Buck during a brawl at a saloon in Texas about six months ago. Buck had pulled his tail out of the fire that night, and they'd been riding together ever since.

The obviously irritated older man turned from his patient. Of the two young men in his office, the dark haired one definitely seemed to be paying more attention to him. "That leg has to have time to heal. He needs at least a couple of days to make sure those stitches hold. I'd prefer he stay put for three or four days anyway."

Chris sighed heavily as he sat up. Being told he needed to stay here another three or four days wasn't what he had wanted to hear. There was no reason they had to leave town, he was just getting antsy and ready to move on. This wasn't the most exciting place they had ever stopped over in.

The doctor whirled back around. "That's a minimum. Unless you want to fight off an infection. That could mean fever, cauterization, or amputation at the worst. So rest."

Chris nodded curtly not believing things would get nearly that dire but willing to agree to what the man said to keep from having to make another trip to his office.

The doctor heaved a sigh of his own and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. As soon as his back was turned Chris glanced over at Buck.

Buck smirked and moved up alongside Chris. "Real lovable fella, ain't he?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Next time I might just tell you to let me bleed out."

"Do you have a room?" the doctor asked coming back to them.

"Yes, sir," Buck answered flashing the man a grin. Chris remained silent and stoic, more than willing to let Buck try to smooth things over with the crotchety old man.

The doctor nodded his approval and passed a cup over to Chris. "Drink that."

Chris warily eyed the glass and its contents. "What is it?"

"Something that will hopefully keep you off that leg tonight and make you do what you're supposed to be doing."

In other words, it was something that was going to knock him out. Chris tried to hand the glass back. "I don't want it."

The doctor crossed his arms and leveled him with a look. "Young man, this isn't about what you want, but what you need. Sleep won't come easy as much as that leg's painin' you now, and don't you dare sit there and tell me it ain't. Sleep is what you need."

"I don't need it." Chris' voice had become a low growl.

The doctor said nothing, simply continued to stare. Having enough of the stare down, Chris slammed the glass on the exam table. "I'm goin' back to the room," he snapped before jumping off the table.

It was at that moment Chris' leg decided to betray him. As soon as his foot hit the floor his knee buckled. Both the doctor and Buck made a grab for him and between the two of them, Chris managed to stay upright. Shaking off the hands that were trying to help, Chris steadied himself against the exam table, his teeth clenched against the sudden spike of pain in his thigh.

"I'm sure that was helpful," the doctor said with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice. Picking up the glass, he again offered it to Chris. "Care to rethink your earlier statement?"

Hard green eyes glared at the doctor, and the older man glared right back.

"Just take it, Chris."

Chris sent his glare in Buck's direction, not that it would do any good. Buck was one of the few people who seemed completely unaffected by the Larabee look. "I don't want it," he said his voice low.

"Why? It ain't gonna impress nobody for you to hurt all night."

Chris sighed. It wasn't about him impressing anyone; he just didn't like taking things that put him to sleep like that. He didn't like being in a sleep so deep he couldn't come out of it if he needed to.

"Come on, Chris, I'll make the time go by faster anyway."

"Fine," Chris growled. It was doubtful he'd get out of here unless he did take it, and his leg was hurting. He took the glass from the doctor and threw it back, not quite concealing a shudder. Whatever the stuff was, it tasted terrible.

"Get him to bed," the doctor told Buck. Something that almost resembled a smile was on the man's face. "And don't take offense when I say I hope I don't see either one of you anytime soon."

Buck laughed as he slid his arm around Chris. "Yes, sir." He turned to the blond, "Ready, stud?"

"Can walk you know," Chris groused, not keen on Buck helping him out, but not feeling up to making the trek alone either.

"Sure you can. Thanks for the help, Doc."

The doctor made a noncommittal grunt as they left.

Once they were outside, Chris shook off Buck's support. Buck didn't try to maintain his grip but stayed close having the feeling Chris would need him again before they got to their room. As it turned out Chris did need the help, although he did all right until they got to the stairs in the hotel. At that point, Chris stopped and just stared at the steps separating him from his bed. Moving in behind him, Buck lightly gripped his friend's elbow and kept him steady for the short climb.

Arriving in their room, Chris wasted no time getting to the bed. Whatever the doctor had given him, it worked fast and sleep was quickly coming for him. He barely managed to get his boots off – Buck had to help with that too – before he felt his eyes drifting shut. Snapping his eyes open Chris shook his head trying to clear it of the rapidly approaching cobwebs.

"What?" he asked noticing the smirk on Buck's face as he started to fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

"Leg still hurtin'?"

Chris scowled. "Shut up, Buck." No, his leg wasn't hurting and maybe taking whatever Doc had given him had been a good idea, but Buck didn't have to rub it in.

Buck laughed and helped Chris pull his shirt the rest of the way off. "Get some sleep, Chris."

Chris lay back on the bed, not sure he was capable of anything else at the moment. "Buck," he mumbled.

"Yeah, cowboy?"

"Don't havta stay with me."

The last thing Chris remembered was another laugh coming from his friend. "Good, cause I wasn't plannin' to."

 **A/N: Going to do my best to keep this one short and lighthearted.**


	2. July 1st

July 1

Chris groaned when he saw the sunlight pouring through the window of his and Buck's room. This was one of the reasons he hated draughts like the doctor had pushed on him last night. He slept too hard for too long. He felt slightly hungover too; a fact that irritated him to no end. Any day that found him waking this late should have found him with a proper hangover, and there should be hazy memories of whiskey and maybe a girl. To wake up feeling like this without having had so much as a drop of alcohol was a travesty.

Pushing himself up, Chris swung his feet to the floor, his attention going to his leg. It was still sore but it wasn't hurting nearly as bad as last night. As much as he disliked medicine, he was sure the time he'd spent sleeping had helped. The fact that he was no longer being attacked by an ornery doctor and his giant needle was probably helping as well. Taking a deep breath, Chris stood up, testing his leg. The burning got a little worse, but it didn't buckle on him like it had last night. Keeping as much weight off his bad leg as he could, Chris limped over to his saddle bags and pulled out a change of clothes. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on Saturday night during his meeting with that two-bit saddle tramp and his Arkansas Toothpick, and cleaning up was definitely in order.

Hobbling back over to the bed, Chris removed his old clothes tossing his pants on the floor to throw out later. Having been through a bar fight, two trips to the doctor's, and covered in two-day old bloodstains, Chris didn't see the point in trying to salvage them. It would be easier just to pick up a new pair in a few days.

Chris' attempt to make himself look human again didn't work as well as he'd hoped. The brief walk across the room, as well as changing clothes, left the wound on his thigh burning again. When he got his pants buttoned, Chris sank back down on the bed, still shirtless, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Feeling like an invalid did nothing to help his agitation, and Buck picked that moment to walk back in the room.

"Where you been?" Chris snapped.

"I'm sorry, mother," Buck replied feigning chagrin. "You gonna send me to bed without supper again?"

Chris scowled as he tried to rub the ache out of his leg. He had no reason to take his frustration out on Buck. Just because he was stuck in here was no reason for Buck to act like a good boy or worse a married man. If Buck had found something or someone to keep him busy last night, well good for Buck. Of course, night had ended some time ago, but it was Buck.

"How's the leg today?"

Chris sighed. "Sore. Not as bad, though. Least it quit throbbin'."

"Good. I thought about seein' if the doc had any more of that stuff he gave you last night but . . . I thought this might work better." Buck came over to the bed and produced a bottle of whiskey.

That soothed the irritation some. "That'll help."

Buck filled one glass and passed it to Chris and then filled one for himself. Sitting at the foot of the bed, Buck pointed his legs towards the head and silently toasted Chris before taking a drink.

Chris joined in surprised to find it was good whiskey, for a town like this one anyway. Not a fine whiskey to be sure, but definitely a cut above the rot gut most saloons served. Chris took another drink, appreciating the burn of the liquid as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach.

"Thanks, Buck, I'd rather feel burnin' in my gut than my leg any day."

Buck chuckled. "Glad I could help."

Chris took another drink and dropped his head back against the wall. "Not that I'm complainin' but what's the occasion. You didn't hunt down good whiskey just because I'm stuck up here, did you?"

"Nah." Buck looked down at his glass before giving Chris a half shrug. "Call it . . . call it a birthday present."

Birthday present? Chris lifted his head to look at Buck again. How did Buck know? Chris didn't remember ever having mentioned to Buck when his birthday was. Then again maybe he didn't know, he was off by nearly a whole month. "Again, I'm not complainin', but you're a little early ain't you?"

Buck looked confused. "Early?"

"Yeah. Your timing's off by about thirty days."

Buck's look of confusion never wavered. "Thirty days for your birthday?"

"The thirty-first, yeah."

"Your birthday's the thirty-first?"

"That's what my ma always told me."

"How 'bout that," Buck muttered before he chuckled. "Well, I wasn't talkin' 'bout your birthday, stud. I's talkin' 'bout mine."

"Your birthday's today?"

Buck grinned. "That's what my mama always told me."

Chris laughed. "In that case," he lifted is glass in a toast this time. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"How old are you?" Chris asked realizing that for all the months they'd been riding together he really didn't know much about the man beside him, not personal things like that.

"Twenty-five today."

"So, you always have a celebration this exciting?"

Buck didn't respond right away. He got the bottle and topped off both their glasses, he then studied the amber liquid in his glass for a minute. "No," he finally said. "Actually, it's been a while since I've done much celebrating. The last few years there hasn't been anyone around to really care."

Chris understood that. The last two years he'd been with Ella during his birthday, and of course, she had made a big deal out of the day. The years in between the time he'd left home and the day he met Ella, though, his birthday had come and gone without much thought. He'd assumed this year would be the same.

Buck chuckled again, a nervous kind of sound to Chris' ears. "Well, I thought it might be nice for today to be a little different."

Chris wasn't one for heartfelt speeches or a lot of sentimentalities, but he understood what his friend had just said. Buck saw him as someone who would care that it was his birthday, someone who would allow him to relax a little and acknowledge that this day was different than every other day. It was nice to know someone like that. Chris had spent several years ignoring his birthday, and when Ella had first wanted to celebrate he'd resisted, verbally anyway. Although honestly, he'd liked knowing someone cared.

Life out here, particularly when one was drifting, was hard. If a man could find someone he could count on to ride the river with, he was a fortunate man indeed. Chris didn't really know why he and Buck had ridden out of town together that day, or why they had stayed together all these months. What he did know was that even though they mixed about as well as oil and water at times, Buck had become a friend, and a man Chris would trust with his life. A man he had trusted with his life. If he was reading Buck correctly right now, the dark haired man felt the same way, and Chris was honored.

"Kinda figured mine would pass pretty quiet this year too," Chris said simply not about to give Buck an emotionally-driven speech concerning friendship.

Buck suddenly grinned. "Oh, no. I know about it now. At the very least we'll have to find another bottle of above average bad liquor to drink. And I got thirty days to find one."

Chris chuckled. He wouldn't admit it to a lot of people, but it might be nice for the day to have some acknowledgment. "If you want a little somethin' extra and feel like gettin' up there's some cigars in my saddlebags. They're in a pouch in the left one."

Buck jumped up. "Ain't gonna turn that down." He returned a minute later with the cigars and passed one over to Chris. "Thanks," he said after lighting up and taking a long draw off of his. "It's good. These ain't your regular cheroots."

Chris shook his head. "I figure since it's your birthday, we needed above average bad cigars to go with our above average bad whiskey."

"Thanks again."

Chris took a draw off his cigar and blew out the smoke before speaking again. "You know somethin', Buck. This ain't the kind of celebration we need. It shouldn't be just the two of us in a grimy hotel room. There should be whiskey, women, and more whiskey, and we should both wake up so hungover we won't even feel like moving until sundown."

"Well, you're not hearin' any arguments from me. When you start and end a month like we do, I think that deserves somethin' special. It's gonna be kinda hard for you to do much celebratin' with that bum leg, though."

Chris grimaced; he hadn't needed a reminder of why he was stuck here to start with.

"And I'll tell you," Buck went on. "You pop those stitches again and I'm not draggin' your tail back to that doctor."

Chris scoffed. "I wouldn't let you drag me back to that doctor. I tell you what, though, after my leg gets a little better, and we get outta here, the next town we come to, we're gonna celebrate and we're gonna do it right. We're gonna make up for all those birthdays we been ignoring." That Larabee grin slowly spread across his face. "What do you say?" he asked raising his glass.

Buck seemed to consider Chris' words a moment before a grin of his own appeared. He raised his glass meeting Chris' in a proper toast. "I say that I will drink to that."

 **A/N: Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favorites.**


	3. July 6th

July 6th

Almost a week later Chris thought he and Buck might finally be well on their way to getting their fill of whiskey and women. The town was nothing special, just another dusty, wide spot in the road like so many others the two men had found themselves in the last few months. Nondescript, but it had the look of a place that might hang on and grow as the years passed. Chris had seen two stores, a barber shop, a gunsmith, and a church when they'd first rode in, but those weren't what he was interested in. It was the saloons that caught his attention, and of the three he'd seen they had settled in one called the Longhorn.

The Longhorn was nice enough, a permanent bar, large mirror, and a felt-topped table for cards, but Buck and Chris were only interested in two things, and the saloon was able to provide both. When they had first entered Chris had taken care of the whiskey while Buck had taken on the task of finding some company for the evening; a job he completed quickly. Chris had barely sat down before Buck joined him with Celia and Ruby. Celia had already claimed Buck, so the petite, strawberry blonde went to Chris. Neither Chris nor Ruby had any complaints about the arrangement.

One thing Chris had noted about the Longhorn was the absence of red paned lanterns out front to inform the patrons of just how much entertainment the girls inside were expected to provide. Not that Chris was too concerned about it. Just because it wasn't in their job description didn't mean they wouldn't be willing, and even if Ruby wasn't interested in things taking that direction, Chris would live. As for Buck, Buck would get what he wanted. If he wanted more intimate company he'd find it, whether it was with Celia or someone else. Regardless of what happened the rest of the night, for now, things were good, and Chris intended to enjoy it.

"Your friend said the two of you were celebrating," Ruby said sitting down in his lap and pushing his hat off, letting it fall behind him.

"That's right."

Her fingers started to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "What are you celebrating?"

"Birthday."

"Yours or his?"

"Yes," he said before giving her a smile.

Ruby laughed at the answer and poured them both a drink. Filling two glasses, she passed one to Chris and settled back in, one arm going around his neck. "So when's your birthday, cowboy?"

"Not a cowboy." Ruby seemed taken aback by the answer and Chris grimaced realizing his voice had more of an edge than he'd meant for it to.

"Little touchy about it, huh?"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that."

Ruby kissed him before offering him a smile. "Don't be. Can't say I blame you."

"The name's Chris, by the way."

Ruby picked up her glass and took a healthy swallow eliciting a smile from Chris. The girl could drink. "Alright, Chris. If you're not a cowboy, what do you do?"

"Drift. Whatever I find that needs doin'."

She ran her fingers along the leather of his gun belt. "Does it every involve this?"

"Sometimes," he answered with a Larabee grin.

"You any good with it?"

"Some say so, but it's got no place in what's goin' on right now." He set his glass down and then took Ruby's out of her hand before he wrapped his arms around her. "The only thing that needs doin' now, is drinkin' and lovin'."

"Well, in that case, what are your plans for the rest of the night?"

"What do you want my plans to be?" he asked with a lazy grin.

Ruby's reply was an impish smile right before her lips found his.

Chris wasn't sure how long he sat with Ruby. It was long enough for him to start thinking that spending the night with her might not be as out of reach as he'd first thought, and long enough that he was starting to feel comfortably numb from his drinks. He wasn't drunk by any means, but he had reached a point where he knew it was coming soon. He'd been looking forward to this all week.

"I'm officially off duty at one," Ruby told him filling his glass again. "If you're interested."

"I'm interested."

"I have a room upstairs."

"That's convenient."

"I can get us a bottle to go with us."

Chris grunted in reply nipping lightly at her ear. "How long is it until one?"

Ruby laughed. "We'll be alright until then."

Chris joined in and picked up his glass again. The night hadn't gone quite like he'd anticipated. He'd been expecting him and Buck to raise a little more hell than this, but he wasn't complaining. He was fine with the way things were going, and he imagined Buck wasn't going to fuss either, not since Buck and Celia had found their own table some time ago. The last time Chris had looked, Buck seemed to be holding his own.

He was about to turn his attention back to Ruby when a loud voice cut through the noisy room. "What did I tell you about throwing yourself at other men?"

Chris looked around for the source of the voice and only became aware of who the man had been talking to when Ruby was abruptly jerked off his lap.

"You might as well be working at the Nugget the way you act you, worthless little whore." That statement ended with a backhand and Ruby stifled a cry.

Chris jumped to his feet now fully aware of what was going on. He pulled Ruby behind him slightly and leveled the loudmouth in front of him with a glare. "Leave her alone," he growled.

The man in front of him was obviously drunk, and judging by appearances stayed that way often. "Stay out of this."

Ruby stepped around him. "Don't start anything, Charlie. Please."

Charlie grabbed Ruby's arm and yanked her toward him. "Shut up, you little tramp. I'll deal with you later."

Chris shoved the drunk in the chest knocking him away from Ruby and once again stepped between them. "I told you to leave her alone."

"You can't tell me what to do with my woman."

"I'm not your woman," Ruby cried.

"You are." Charlie leered at her. "And you're gonna learn to appreciate me." He stepped forward and made a grab for her but Chris knocked him back again.

"Get outta here, Ruby," he told the woman behind him.

"Stay out of this, cowboy," Charlie barked.

"Chris, please don't get mixed up in this," Ruby begged at the same time.

Chris ignored both of them. "Buck, get her outta here." He knew Buck would be behind him, and sure enough, he soon heard Buck talking to Ruby in a soothing voice as he backed away with her.

"This ain't none of your business," Charlie said his eyes flashing with hate.

"It became mine when you put your filthy hands on her." Chris drew himself up to his full height and angled himself slightly, giving the drunk a clear view of his .45. If he had anything to say about it, this worthless excuse of a man would never touch Ruby again.

"Chris, be careful," he heard Ruby call.

Chris didn't acknowledge the warning, but something in Charlie's eyes changed. "Chris," he said a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Larabee. It is you, ain't it?"

"So?" Chris said simply.

"You always waste your time protecting whores, Larabee? She ain't worth the trouble."

"You're not touching her again," Chris replied flatly.

"Not for now, but that's alright. I'll just have to settle things with you first." Charlie backed up a few steps and pushed his jacket back to reveal his own weapon. "They say you're fast, Larabee. Are you? You as fast as they say?"

Chris internally sighed. So much for celebrating now. "I'm not lookin' for trouble."

"Too bad, cause you found it. Draw whenever you feel lucky."

Chris took a breath. "No."

"Draw."

"Get outta here, and go sleep it off."

"Draw!" Charlie yelled as his hand dropped to his gun.

It was a stupid move, but one Chris had seen coming from a mile away. The moment he saw Charlie's hand move, his own dropped down. In one quick, fluid movement, Chris' gun cleared his holster and fired a shot that hit Charlie square in the chest.

Charlie's body hit the floor, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. He heard a cry from one of the girls, and Ruby was soon back by his side. Wrapping an arm around her he held her close as she started trying to explain things. And just like that, the spell that had been over the room lifted. People all started trying to talk at once, and although Chris only caught snippets of what was being said, he did catch something about the sheriff. Sighing, Chris holstered his gun. Nothing like a shootout to ruin a perfectly good night.

* * *

"You're runnin' us outta town?"

"No, Mr. Wilmington, I'm askin' you to leave town."

"So a drunk picks a fight, Chris wins, and we have to leave?"

"That's about the size of it."

As luck would have it, the sheriff had been at the Longhorn when Charlie had shown up. He'd seen what had happened, but had asked Chris and Ruby to come to his office so the formalities could be taken care of in peace. Buck and Celia had followed.

It hadn't taken long for everyone to agree Chris' actions were self-defense, and the girls had returned to the saloon. Chris and Buck had been asked to remain, and then politely asked when they would be leaving. Buck was surprised by the question, Chris wasn't.

"Charlie was drunk," the sheriff said turning to Chris. "A mean one, shiftless too. I don't imagine his death is gonna be mourned by too many people, especially those girls at the saloon, but you're a man with a reputation Larabee, and you've left a body in my town."

"It was a fair fight," Chris stated flatly not really knowing why he bothered to say it.

"No one is debatin' that. I was there, remember, I saw the whole thing. It was fair, and as I said, he was a mean one. If it hadn't been you it would have been someone else eventually. But as I also said, it's a still a gunfight, and it's still a body. Now as neither one of you have a reason to stay, I think it would be better if the two of you just kept movin' on."

"And if we don't?"

"I said I was askin'. So far you haven't done anything worth me runnin' you out of town for, don't make me have to find a reason."

"I'm not lookin' for trouble, sheriff." Maybe the man had a point, but Chris didn't appreciate being treated like a criminal. Granted this wasn't the first time he'd been asked to leave a town, but it was the first time when he hadn't really done anything.

"Maybe not, but men like you don't have to look for it, do they? It just seems to find you. I'd rather it not be too well known Chris Larabee is hangin' 'round these parts."

Chris wasn't sure when his name had started to mean anything other than the fact he was Will Larabee's boy, but it had happened; he had a reputation. He hadn't set out to get one, but he had one, and there wasn't much he could do about it.

"It's your call, Larabee. You can go peaceably, and prove you're not huntin' trouble, or you can stay. If you stay I will find a reason to get you off the streets, though."

Chris' eyes flashed. "You ever think of keepin' that drunk off the street? That might have saved you some trouble."

"Sure it did, and I tried to do it several times. Thing was, Charlie wasn't worth much, but he wasn't stupid. We never could get proof enough to tie him to anything serious. The best we could do was keep him overnight most times."

"Maybe you should be thanking me for ridding you of a problem then."

"Maybe I should. The fact remains, though, you're known as a gun hand, you were involved in a fight, and a man's dead. I don't want any more trouble."

Chris sighed and exchanged a look with Buck. Buck was resigned but still peeved. Chris had a feeling Buck wasn't as familiar with this routine as he was. He turned to the sheriff. "You have any objections to us waiting until mornin' to leave?"

The sheriff shook his head. "No. I think I owe you at least that much."

"Thanks." Chris didn't quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice but left before he ended up saying something he'd regret.

Stepping out onto the boardwalk Chris took a deep breath. The night definitely hadn't gone like he'd planned, and he doubted Ruby was still in a mood to meet up.

"Was a nice party, huh?" Buck asked as he joined him outside.

"Yeah," Chris said running a hand through his blond hair before jamming his hat back on his head. "Sorry about that."

Buck chuckled. "Ah, don't worry about it." He looked at Chris and grinned. "It's just another delay. Besides, I have my doubts Celia was going to provide the company I was huntin'."


	4. July 13th

July 13th

After being politely thrown out of town, things went downhill. Buck's horse threw a shoe just a few hours into Sunday morning and they rode double for more than a day until they could get to something that passed for a town. It had been a mining camp at one time and had grown up some, but there still wasn't much to it. There was a blacksmith, however, which was what they needed. Beyond that, there wasn't much there for them to concern themselves with; the whiskey was watered down and there wasn't a woman to be found. Once Buck's horse was back in shape they were only too happy to leave the place behind.

Shortly after leaving the camp, it started to rain, and then the rain became a downpour. The next two days were spent waiting for the rain to pass, and they were only able to find marginal shelter. Thankfully there were no worries about the temperature dropping, but the wetness was a nuisance, and it was almost impossible to keep a fire going. When the rain finally did stop, there was still the mud to contend with. Buck tried to make things look brighter by pointing out that at least the ground being wet meant they didn't have to eat dust while they rode. Chris wasn't too amused by the observation and pointed out that mud could suck a shoe off and leave them down a horse again.

By the time they found the next decent sized town, both Chris and Buck were tired, dirty, and irritated. Parts of them were still damp, and Chris was ready to get good and drunk, even more so than he'd been the week before. He was also ready for good food and a dry bed, and for the first night the creature comforts won out. He and Buck both made a trip to the bathhouse and splurged on a good meal before getting a room and having a decent night's sleep in a real bed.

The next morning, Chris woke in far better spirits. It felt good to be clean and dry, but he was still just as ready to get drunk. The past week hadn't been the worst or toughest week Chris had ever had, far from it, but he was still feeling put out about being run out of town and the events of the last few days had done nothing to soothe the irritation the sheriff's request had brought on. When he and Buck walked into a saloon that evening, Chris had only one thing on his mind, drinking until he couldn't drink anymore. And no one was going to interfere this time. He didn't even care if there was a woman involved. He just wanted to get drunk.

XXXXXXX

Chris opened blurry eyes and tried to remember where he was. A pounding head and empty stomach bespoke of a hangover and despite not feeling his best Chris almost had to smile. He'd come into town with the intention of getting out of his mind drunk, and if his head was any indication, he had done just that.

After a minute he was finally able to get his gritty eyes to focus on something, and that's when he noticed the bars. He blinked a couple of times and found that he wasn't imagining things; he was indeed in a cell. Chris jumped to his feet with a mumbled curse ignoring the spike of pain it sent through his head and the unpleasant roll it gave his stomach. Once he'd regained his balance and refocused his eyes Chris could only stare in disbelief before sinking back down on the cot with a groan. Getting drunk had been part of the plan, getting arrested hadn't.

Figuring he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, Chris lay back down and desperately tried to remember what he'd done. He had no memory of anything happening, no fights or anyone challenging him. He was pretty sure there hadn't even been a woman. He and Buck had just been drinking.

Thinking of Buck, Chris sat back up and looked around. Buck wasn't in the cell with him, and he didn't see him in the next cell either. That didn't bode well for Chris. Whatever he'd done, it looked as though Buck hadn't been a part of it. Or something really bad had happened. Starting to feel a little concerned, Chris got to his feet again and looked around the office. He didn't see anyone. Since he obviously wasn't getting any information for the time being, he went back to the cot.

Chris lay in the cell, eyes closed and tried not to focus on the ache in his head. Coffee would help his headache, but locked up there wasn't much he could do about acquiring any. For now, he'd suffer through it as best he could. At least the room was quiet, but that did mean he didn't have anything to take his mind off the possibility he'd done something really stupid last night or keep him from wondering what had happened to Buck.

Chris evidently drifted back off because his next conscience thought was hearing someone enter the office. He turned to look and found a man he assumed was the sheriff, or marshal, whatever this town had. The man hung his hat up on a peg by the door before going over and lighting the potbellied stove in the corner. Chris watched in silence as the man prepared a pot of coffee and tried to figure what the odds of him getting a cup were. The answer to that would probably have a lot to do with what he'd been arrested for.

The cot creaked when Chris pushed himself up, and the man turned his way. "Mornin'," he said with a smile. "Finally decided to wake up I see. Not that I'm surprised. The story is you took in quite a bit last night."

Chris winced and slowly stood up. The sheriff's voice was loud in his hungover condition, but Chris noticed not unbearably so. If he didn't know any better he'd say the man was making an effort to keep his voice low, and the smile appeared friendly enough. "Sheriff?" he questioned leaning against the bars of his cell.

The man nodded. "Dave Paxton."

"Chris." He decided to leave it at that for now. His name would have to come out sooner or later, but the sheriff seemed easy going enough right now and Chris hated to mess it up. His full name had turned the last one against him fast enough. "I don't uhh . . . I don't remember much about last night."

The man grinned. "Not surprised about that either."

"What I mean is, what am I in for?"

"Nothin'."

"What?"

"If you're askin' about the charges against you, there ain't none. Coffee?"

"Yeah," Chris said wondering what was going on. If there were no charges against him, why was he here? The sheriff brought a cup over and opened the cell door. It hadn't been locked, Chris realized.

"You can come out whenever you feel like it," Paxton said passing the cup over.

Chris accepted the cup and sat back down on the cot, more confused than ever, but too hungover to try and sort anything out now. After finishing the coffee Chris leaned his head back against the wall. The coffee had made things a little clearer and he felt like he might be able to make sense of something the sheriff said now.

"Why am I here?" he asked watching the sheriff through the open door of the cell.

"You passed out at the bar last night," Paxton explained. "When it came time to close up it was pretty plain you weren't going anywhere on your own and Mike didn't know what to do with you so he asked me if you could sleep it off here. I know bars aren't the most welcoming sight to wake up to, but it beats an alley."

Chris snorted a laughed that brought on another wince. "That's a fact." He had woken up in both situations in his life. A cell wasn't too bad when the door was standing wide open. Feeling steadier than he had a while ago, Chris got to his feet and walked over to the sheriff's desk. "What about my friend?" he asked as he sank into the chair front of the lawman. If he hadn't technically been arrested, Buck's absence was a little more troubling.

"Friend?"

"My saddle partner. He didn't pass out at the bar too?"

The sheriff shook his head. "No. More coffee?"

Receiving an affirmative nod Paxton refilled both cups. "What's this friend look like?" he asked sitting back down.

"'He's a little taller and stockier than me, but about my age. Dark hair; name of Wilmington."

The sheriff shook his head. "Sorry, son. Don't know nothin' about that. You were the only one there when Mike sent for me."

Chris didn't like the way that sounded. Buck didn't just run off. He was about to get seriously concerned when something occurred to him. "Any brothels in town?"

The sheriff smiled. "A couple."

Chris sighed, wondering why he hadn't thought about that before. What else would Buck have done if Chris had passed out? At least he didn't have anything to worry about now. Finishing his coffee, Chris set his mug down and offered the sheriff his hand. "Thanks for the coffee, sheriff. And the bed."

The man chuckled. "Anytime. I wish I could say that's the only thing all my guests were in for."

"If you don't need me for anything . . . . " Chris was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact he was free to walk. He usually had to contend with drunk and disorderly at the least.

The sheriff shook his head. "Nothin' at all."

Chris tipped his hat and stepped outside. Being Sunday there wasn't much activity on the boardwalk and Chris was grateful. The coffee had helped, but he was still feeling his hangover and he just wanted to get back to his room and lay down again. He hoped if Buck was there he wouldn't feel like talking.


	5. July 14th

July 14th

A bump woke Chris up. It was pitch dark outside and he instinctively reached for the gun lying next to him. Something was going on, and he didn't like it. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Buck in over twenty-four hours, and he was more than a little concerned.

Chris didn't want to admit to being worried, after all, he and Buck hadn't been riding together that long, and Buck had been taking care of himself for several years now. He didn't need Chris to hold his hand, and he certainly didn't have to fill Chris in on every little thing he was doing. Still, disappearing like this just wasn't like Buck. Maybe they hadn't known each other long, but Buck was pretty easy to figure. Chris knew Buck wouldn't abandon him just because he'd gotten a little too drunk, and if the younger man had found a brothel like Chris first suspected . . . well, even Buck couldn't hold out that long. He just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Buck wasn't with a lady friend.

Hearing another bump, Chris curled his fingers around his weapon and brought it closer. He rolled over to see the partially open window and watched in silence as a shadowy figure climbed through it. As soon as the intruder stood upright Chris sat up, thumbing the hammer of his pistol back. "Hold it," he growled aiming towards the window.

"Chris, it's me."

Chris was filled with both relief and irritation when he heard Buck's voice. "Where have you been?" he demanded uncocking his weapon and jumping up.

"I don't need your harpin' right now," Buck snapped back before going over to the bed and easing down on it with a sigh.

Chris looked from Buck to the window and back again. "There're easier ways of gettin' into a room, you know. Ways that are less likely to get you shot too."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it pays to be cautious."

Putting his gun away, Chris lit one of the lamps in the room. "Where you been?" he asked again more curious than irritated this time. Now that he had some light he could see Buck looked worn out, agitated, and not at all like he'd been enjoying the company of a young woman.

Buck sighed heavily. "Dodgin' Frank Hammond mostly."

"Who?"

"Frank Hammond."

"Who's Frank Hammond?" Chris didn't recognize the name and wondered if he should.

"Jasper that's been huntin' me all day," Buck mumbled dropping his head down.

"Why?" Chris asked exasperated at having to dig answers out of Buck one at a time.

Buck chuckled, although there wasn't much humor behind it, and looked back up, a sort of sheepish grin on his face. "Well, Rosie didn't tell me she had a steady fella."

Chris groaned. "Buck."

"She don't take it serious."

"What about Frank?"

Buck grimaced. "Apparently, he takes it a little more serious."

Chris rolled his eyes. "So you been runnin' from this man all day?"

Buck nodded. "And most of the night."

"That's why the window."

"Thought he might be downstairs."

"Looks like you've had a lot of practice."

That sheepish grin came back but it looked forced. "You know how it goes, Chris."

Chris softly shook his head. He would never understand Buck and his women. Chris appreciated a woman as much as the next man, but not at the expense of his own health and wellbeing. Whereas Buck it seemed was more than willing to sacrifice his health for some time with a lady. "How many mad daddies are chasing you with shotguns?" he asked.

"None that I know of. Just Frank."

"He's got a gun."

"Why do you think I was runnin'?" Buck asked as though the answer should have been obvious.

"Buck . . . " Anything else Chris had planned to say was cut off when Buck suddenly stiffened and groaned.

Chris' brow furrowed, noticing for the first time Bucks left hand was fisted in the blanket. "What's wrong?"

Buck shook his head. "I'm fine," he said the tension in his voice belying the words.

"Buck," Chris said hoping his tone had more effect on Buck than his looks did. "What happened?"

Again Buck let out one of those weak sounding chuckles. "He's pretty handy with that shotgun."

Chris had a sinking feeling as he turned up the flame on the lamp. Shifting his position slightly he could now see what Buck had hidden before, and one look at Buck's torn and slightly bloody shirt confirmed his suspicions. Chris winced imagining what the skin underneath looked like. "What was it?" he asked.

Buck shook his head. "I don't know. Hurt like the dickens, though."

Chris grunted in reply before lighting the other lamps and helping Buck ease his shirt off.

"He got you good all right," Chris said grimacing when he saw what Buck had been hiding. A large bruise had already discolored the skin, and dozens of small puncture wounds ran from Buck's lower ribs down to his hip, some were still bleeding slightly. "Looks like it could be birdshot."

"I guess that's good."

"Better than buckshot. How'd you make it through the window with this?"

"Like you said, I've had a lot of practice," Buck said managing a smirk.

Chris didn't doubt it. "Probably need to let a doctor look at this."

"Just take care of it," Buck mumbled.

"Me?"

Buck turned to look at him. "Look, Chris, we both know there ain't much that can be done for it. No sense wasting a doctor's time and our money."

Buck had a point, outside of cleaning it there wasn't much to do. On the other hand, about the best Chris could do was pour alcohol over it, an unpleasant prospect at best. A doctor could clean it more thoroughly and odds were could make it easier for Buck too. If they were out on the trail Chris could take care of it, but there just wasn't any point while they were in town. Chris finally shook his head. "Nope. You drug me to that doc in Red Rock twice. You're gonna get this taken care of the right way."

"Chris, I don't . . ."

"Shut up, Buck," Chris snapped before giving Buck his best Larabee look, and blessedly, for once, Buck actually shut up.

XXXXXXX

Two hours later the sun was up, and Chris was standing next to Doctor Adams while the man sat hunched over Buck and picked out the pieces of birdshot that weren't too deeply embedded.

"That's about the best I can do," Adams said dropping another piece of shot in a bowl and straightening. "The rest will work itself out eventually."

"Told you," Buck mumbled from the bed.

"Thought you might appreciate a professional. His touch is gentler than mine."

"Didn't feel like it from this side."

"Well, I'm sorry, son, but it's about to get rougher."

Buck moaned softly understanding perfectly what the man meant. "Go ahead."

Adams took a clean rag and splashed some carbolic acid on it before wiping over the area of Buck's side he'd just finished picking through. Buck stiffened and his fist tightened in the blanket but he didn't make a sound.

Chris winced in sympathy. He knew Buck was in pain. He'd never been on the receiving end of a load of birdshot, but judging from what he'd seen the last couple of hours, it hurt. And he still remembered the carbolic acid that had been used to clean his thigh after the bar fight.

The doctor finished his ministrations and after a minute the tension left Buck. "I take it back, Larabee. His touch is gentler."

The doctor chuckled. "Just take it easy for a couple of days, son, and you'll be fine." He stood and addressed Chris. "It's not a serious wound. The rest of the shot will work its way out over the next couple of weeks. It's been cleaned well so there shouldn't be any worries of infection, but if you need me you know where I am."

"You hear that, Buck? Doc thinks you're gonna live."

"Good. There's a lot more ladies that need to meet me."

The response got a laugh out of the doctor and an eye roll from Chris. The doctor then gave a few simple instructions and left.

Once they were alone, Chris took the chair and moved it to the other side of the bed. Sitting down he crossed his arms and propped his feet up on the bed, looking at Buck until the latter opened his eyes.

Buck stared at him for a moment before speaking. "So I'm gonna live, huh?"

Chris shrugged. "That's what the man said. Your doctor's a lot more personable than mine."

"What can I say, Chris. I guess you just bring out the best in people."

Chris shot Buck a look eliciting a laugh that was quickly cut off with a groan. "Ow."

Chris nudged Buck's foot with the toe of his boot. "You heard the man, just take it easy. We ain't goin' nowhere for a couple days."

"Stuck again huh?"

Chris shrugged. "It's an all right place. Least the law ain't got it in for me."

"You meet him?"

"Woke up in a cell yesterday," Chris replied with a smirk.

Buck's eyes clouded with worry. "Trouble?"

"No. The sheriff was just nice enough to let me sleep it off in a cell instead of the street."

Buck scoffed. "How do we get into these messes?"

"Pa used to tell me most of my trouble was self-inflicted. I'd say yours is too."

A gleam came to Buck's eye. "Maybe one day we'll learn our lesson," he said that smile that turned so many ladies' heads lighting up his face.

"Maybe."

"But not today?"

Chris matched Buck's grin with one of his own. "Doubtful."


	6. July 22nd

July 22

Chris had spent the first day after Buck's "accident" looking after Buck. It wasn't something he minded until Buck's Miss Rosie had shown up. The girl had come into the room apologizing profusely for what Hammond had done, and stating she was ready to do whatever she could to nurse Buck back to health. Buck was only too happy to exchange Chris for Rosie. Chris couldn't blame Bucks preference but he found himself again questioning Buck's sanity. He couldn't help but wonder if Buck had actually forgotten it was his time with Rosie that had caused the holes in his side in the first place, and if Buck had given any thought to what would happen if Hammond decided to come looking for his girl again. The answers to those questions it seemed were yes, and apparently not. Rosie was soon Buck's self-proclaimed nursemaid, and after about half an hour, Chris decided he wasn't going to be able to stand to be in the same room as those two for any extended amount of time.

Since Buck didn't need him, Chris found other ways to spend his time, and it wasn't too difficult. It definitely worked in his favor to be on good terms with the law, and he ended up having more than one pleasant conversation with Paxton during the following days. He spent time exercising both his and Buck's horses, was able to eat several good meals, met a couple of young ladies, and play some good cards. All in all, the days passed pleasantly, too pleasantly for Chris' liking. After nearly a week the quiet, relaxing, peaceful days started to get the best of him and Chris was ready to move on. Buck also started to grate on his nerves. The few times the girl did leave, Buck told Chris all about her and the day Buck started to sound like he had an interest in Rosie doing more than just nursing him back to health again, Chris decided he was well enough to ride.

Buck had naturally protested leaving but Chris had already gotten a good look at the wound. Most of the remaining shot had worked its way out and the bruise was starting to fade. Buck still had a nice spot of color along his ribs, and Chris was sure it was still tender, but he couldn't see how it would affect Buck's riding. And if Buck was well enough to have an interest in Rosie sharing his bed, he was well enough to ride.

They spent the next two days on the trail, Buck whining about his wound when it was convenient, before they reached another town. July twenty-second they entered the saloon in Granger, Texas and each ordered a beer.

After the barkeep had gotten their drinks, Chris leaned against the bar. "We got a problem, Buck," he said taking off his hat and running his hands through his hair.

"No women?" There was just enough of an edge in Buck's voice to tell Chris his friend was still upset about being dragged away from Rosie before he was ready.

"You ought to be thankin' me. Anybody mention Hammond sulking around the lobby the day before we left?"

Buck's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

Chris raised his eyebrows and sort of shrugged. The statement wasn't exactly true, actually no part of it was true, but Buck didn't need to know that. Chris' supposed answer would stop the younger man's pouting at least.

Buck cleared his throat and shifted slightly telling Chris that despite evidence to the contrary, Buck hadn't completely forgotten about getting shot. "So what's our problem?"

"How much money do you have on you?"

"Oh. A couple of dollars, I think."

"Uh-huh. I've got three." Due to Chris' knife wound a few weeks ago and Buck's recent encounter with the shotgun, they'd spent more time than usual enjoying the creature comforts of town. When Chris added the unusual amount of time he'd spent playing cards over the last week, his funds were getting dangerously low, and Buck's even lower. "Don't you think we ought to do somethin' about that?"

Buck sighed and studied his beer. "Suppose. What'd you have in mind?"

It was Chris' turn to sigh. "I don't."

The next half hour was spent drinking and debating work. It was painfully clear to both men they would have to find something to do and soon, and it was equally painful, at least to Chris, the work would probably be less than desirable. Chris was no stranger to hard work, he had grown up on a farm, but he'd hoped when he'd left Indiana that kind of work had been left behind too. There was always work to be had as a hired gun, something he and Buck were both familiar with, but they did have standards. They wouldn't accept work in that department from just anyone, and frankly, Chris wasn't in a hurry to get caught up in a range war of any kind. There were cards as well, but it wasn't a good option in Chris' opinion. He enjoyed a game of poker but wasn't nearly good enough to risk what money he did have on gambling to try and get more. Maybe there were men that could do that, but neither he nor Buck fell into the category.

"So what are we gonna do?" Buck asked after their talk yielded no clear answer.

Chris grimaced. "Suck it up and bust sod for a while most likely."

"Excuse me, boys."

Chris and Buck both turned towards the new voice. A middle-aged man had come up on the other side of Buck and was now watching them. He looked friendly enough, but Chris felt his stomach tighten some at being the center of a stranger's attention. For the last four weeks if it hadn't been one thing it had been another. Was it too much to ask to just be able to have a couple of drinks in peace?

"Yes, sir?" he asked trying to be as pleasant as possible.

"I don't mean to intrude, but I couldn't help overhear you two. You're lookin' for work?"

Chris and Buck exchanged a glance. "What kind of work?" Chris asked.

"Horses."

Another look was exchanged by the younger men before the older chuckled. "Why don't the two of you let me buy you another drink? We can sit down and talk about it."

Knowing Buck was waiting for him to take the lead, Chris shrugged. "Why not?" What could it hurt to listen to the man? If nothing else they could get another drink out of the deal.

The man had the bartender refill the glasses and led the way to a table in the corner. "My name's Tab Evers," the man said with a smile as he sat down.

Chris and Buck introduced themselves and shook hands with Evers. "You said horses," Chris said after the introductions were made.

"That's right," Evers said. "You two have any experience with them?"

Buck grinned. "Plenty. What kind of experience are you lookin' for?"

"I own a place about seven miles outside of town, the Lazy E. I've bought some new mares, and need a couple of men to help drive them down."

"Just drive 'em down?" Chris wanted it to be clear they weren't looking for regular work.

Evers chuckled. "Just drive 'em down. I don't keep a regular crew at the ranch. I have a foreman, and between the two of us, plus my wife and the kids we keep things running pretty smooth most of the time. Normally, me and Bates could take care of this but I broke a leg a couple of months ago and the doc advised me not to try and go myself. Course, Bates can't go alone, and I don't feel right sending any of the kids up with him." The man chuckled almost to himself. "Besides the man's been with me too long to do that to him."

Chris exchanged another look with Buck wondering what that was supposed to mean and, more importantly, would it affect them.

"I do have a few local boys I normally call on when I need somethin' like this, but as luck would have it, none of them are available right now. I understand you not wantin' anything permanent, but I don't think it'll take more than a week or so."

"A week. Sounds like it could be workable, Chris."

Chris nodded. He'd take horses over cows or crops any day. "Shouldn't be anything we can't handle."

"I'll be in town a couple more hours," Evers said. "You can think about it if you want to." Evers stood and Chris noticed the cane this time, obviously because of the broken leg.

"I suppose I should mention the pay," Evers added like it hadn't occurred to him before. "I'd provide all provisions for the drive, and you'd both get a month's pay."

"A month?" Chris asked as Buck's mouth dropped open.

Evers grinned. "A full month. You just ride up there with Bates and bring 'em back."

"That's a lot of money for a job that simple," Chris said.

"Money I got, it's hands I need. Like I said if you boys want to think about it . . . ."

"We'll do it," Buck broke in.

"Both of you?" Evers asked giving Chris a questioning look.

"Yes," Buck answered before looking at Chris. "Both of us, right?"

"Yes, sir." Chris also stood. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Evers, but we'll do it."

Evers chuckled and shook their hands again. "Glad to hear it. You can come out in the morning, or you can ride back with me in a couple of hours if you're interested in supper tonight."

"Supper sounds good, Mr. Evers," Chris said.

The man grinned. "Then meet me out front of the general store in a couple of hours. We can ride back, get you aquatinted with Bates, and hopefully, you can move out in a day or two."

Chris and Buck sat back down after Evers left. "Well, that was easy enough," Buck commented. "A month of pay for a week of work. Hard to beat that."

"Yeah," Chris mumbled. "Let's just hope it wasn't too easy."


	7. July 28th

July 28th

Six days later, Chris was sitting in a tub of hot water, certain that a bath had never felt as good as this one did. The last week had made him rethink his definition of easy. The job was exactly as Evers had said it would be, nothing more and nothing less, but it certainly hadn't been easy. He'd forgotten that nothing involving lots of large animals was ever easy. The days had been long, hot, and dusty, but Chris had to admit, it hadn't been too bad considering what Evers had paid. The only major mishap had been yesterday when Chris' horse had suddenly decided, for no apparent reason, to drop his head and throw his butt up in the air. The end result was Chris sailing over the horse's head and hitting the ground. Hard. He'd suffered no real damage from the fall, and there had been no other problems to speak of, but he'd still been glad to see the Lazy E when they'd ridden in today.

After the horses were settled in, Evers was given a report of the trip and Chris and Buck were paid. Chris was still having a hard time believing what the man was willing to pay for just a few days of work, but Evers had handed the money over without batting an eye. He'd also offered supper and use of the bathhouse as well as a bed for a couple of days if they wanted it. Chris wasn't sure about the layover, he was itching to move on down the trail, but he was more than willing to take the man up on a good meal, a hot bath, and a clean bed for tonight; especially the bath.

Chris had lost the coin toss on who got the tub first and by the time Buck was through he was more than ready to be clean. Once in the tub, he sat soaking in the hot water for a good twenty minutes or so letting the water work the tension out of his muscles, particularly those along his left side. They'd felt tight and sore ever since the tumble he'd taken off his horse the day before. It wasn't the worst fall he'd ever had by any means, but he was definitely feeling a couple of his ribs. When the water started to cool, Chris sat up and reached for his shaving things. Before he lathered up his face, he looked at the damage his fall had done to that area. There wasn't much, just a few abrasions along his cheek and nose, but the left side of his jaw was sore. He worked it a couple of times and found, just as he had for the last day it was working right, but it hurt like the dickens. Sighing, Chris rolled his eyes and picked up the soap. Stupid horse.

He had just run the razor down his cheek when Buck burst through the door of the bathhouse. "Come on in," Chris remarked dryly never taking his eyes off the mirror in front of him.

"I know what's wrong, Chris."

Chris glanced up from his shaving then did a double take when he caught sight of Buck. The man's eyes were fairly shining and the smile on his face hardly suggested anything was wrong. "Wrong?"

"With those boys of Evers."

Deciding Buck wasn't delivering vitally important news, Chris went back to shaving. "Oh, yeah?"

The Evers boys had been a source of debate and conversation for them over the last few days. When they first arrived Evers had told them the kids were off at a neighboring ranch visiting friends and wouldn't be back for a couple of days. At the time, Chris thought it a little odd that boys old enough to go on overnight trips alone weren't able to help drive a few horses for a couple of days. Somehow Chris couldn't imagine his own father letting him run off to visit while there was work to do, but he hadn't questioned the matter. Evers was the boss, and if he didn't want to send his boys on a drive, well, that wasn't any of Chris' business. That hadn't stopped him and Buck from spending the last few nights trying to figure out what was wrong with the Evers boys, however. It seemed Buck had finally found a reason for Frank, Billy, Joe, and Charlie's mysterious absence.

"Well?" Chris prompted when Buck didn't say anything.

Buck ran a hand through his hair, his grin growing. "Oh, boy, Chris. We weren't anywhere near right."

Chris ran the blade over his cheek one last time. "Well, you gonna tell me or not?"

"Thought it might be better to wait till you didn't have a razor in your hand."

Chris looked up, puzzled, wondering just what Buck was going on about. They'd come up with plenty of crazy theories since that first night: surely Buck wasn't about to tell him one of them was true. Closing his razor up, Chris wiped the remaining soap off his face. "All right; the razor's gone."

Buck moved over to the window and looked out before motioning to Chris. "Come here."

Rolling his eyes, Chris heaved himself out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. "What is it?" he asked joining Buck by the window.

"Look out there."

Chris peered out the window. Evers was in the yard having what appeared to be a lively conversation with an auburn-haired young lady. "What?"

"What do you see?"

"Evers talkin' to a girl."

"Yeah." Buck sighed. "Chris, that's Frankie Evers."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"It's not."

"It is."

"Are they all . . . ."

"Yeah."

"Evers didn't . . . . "

"Uh-uhh."

Chris stared out the window dumbfounded. This couldn't be right. How had he and Buck spent the last five days with Evers and Bates, the foreman, and not heard that the Evers offspring were all female? Chris snorted a laugh. "Guess I can understand Evers not wantin' them to go on that drive without him now."

"It's a shame," Buck said. "I'm sure that young lady would've been better company than Bates."

Chris snorted. "Ain't that the truth." Evers' foreman, Bates, knew his job and he was good at it, but that didn't mean the crotchety man had been the best company on the trail.

Buck clapped him on the shoulder. "Get dressed. I don't think Evers would consider a towel proper attire for an introduction."

Before Chris could say anything else Buck was back out the door and making his way over to Evers and the girl. Evers smiled when he saw Buck and appeared to introduce Buck to his daughter. Chris sighed and pushed away from the window. He probably shouldn't leave Buck out there alone too long; God only knew what the girl might hear.

By the time Chris was dressed and had joined the small gathering in the yard, another girl, a blonde, had come up and Buck had already managed to get her several feet away from the others for a conversation. Chris wondered if he needed to go ahead and warn the girl away from his friend, or maybe just warn Evers. Before he could intervene Evers called him over and Chris decided to leave Buck for the moment. He wouldn't get too carried away with the girl's father right there.

"Chris," Evers said as Chris went over to the man who had been his boss. "This is my daughter, Frankie. Frankie, this is Chris Larabee, one of the men who helped Bates with the drive."

Chris turned toward the girl and tipped his hat. "Miss Evers. It's a pleasure."

The girl smiled tightly. "Mr. Larabee," she said simply.

"It looks like Billie is taking care of Buck well enough," Evers said glancing over at Buck and the blonde. "Would you mind playing hostess to Chris until supper, Frankie?"

"Of course," Frankie said although Chris got the feeling the girl would rather do anything but play hostess to him.

Evers turned and started back to the house. Frankie watched him and once he'd gone inside looked back to Chris. "I suppose we're in your debt for seeing that our new girls arrived safely."

The words were accompanied by that same tight kind of smile and Chris noticed an undertone of hostility in her words. "I don't think I'd say that, Miss Evers. I was in need of a job and your father offered one."

"Ahh, how . . . convenient."

"Yes, ma'am," Chris said wondering about the girl's attitude. What did Frankie Evers have against him? They'd only just met. He'd had a job to do, he'd done it, and come tomorrow he'd be riding out.

"He paid well too, I hear."

"Yes, he did." Chris could hear the irritation starting to come to his own voice. He wasn't sure where the girl's obvious dislike was stemming from, but he didn't appreciate it. Was this about the money? Evers didn't seem to be hurting for anything in that department.

"Look, Miss Evers, I don't know what you have against me, but I didn't make your father hire me and I didn't demand the wages he paid me."

"I have nothing against you personally, Mr. Larabee. You simply weren't needed. I could have easily made that trip."

"I don't doubt it, but it would have been hard for two people."

"You mean it would have been hard for a girl." She crossed her arms and a proud tilt came to her chin. "I can ride, shoot, and rope as well as any man. And so can Billie."

"Well, you'll have to take that up with your father, Miss Evers. I was in the saloon minding my own business when he came up to me."

Frankie looked away with a snort of disgust and Chris was considering that sitting in a bathtub for another two hours would be a better use of his time. It was a pity really, Frankie was a good looking girl; just the right shape and size for Chris' taste. He'd just spent a week riding herd on a bunch of mares, however, and he wasn't in the mood to spend the rest of his afternoon tangling with Frankie, no matter how good looking.

"Look, Miss Evers, I understand your aggravation so why don't I release you from your duty as hostess and I'll see you at supper." He tipped his hat and headed for the bunkhouse.

It took less than a minute for him to hear running feet coming up behind him. "Mr. Larabee?"

He stopped and smirked. He hadn't been positive Frankie would follow but he wasn't disappointed that she had. He turned. "Miss Evers."

"I'm sorry," Frankie said. "I'm not performing my duty as hostess very well."

"You said it not me."

Frankie smiled and offered her hand. "Shall we call a truce?"

"As long as you pull your claws back in," Chris replied accepting her hand.

Frankie laughed. "I promise. Can I show you around?"

Chris shrugged. "You're the hostess."

While Chris had seen a lot of the ranch the evening they arrived, it was different seeing it with Frankie. He found she was even a pretty nice girl once her claws were in and she wasn't poised to jump down his throat. Of course, she was a little more conventional than the ones Chris normally preferred, but she was pleasant enough to pass away the afternoon with. By the time they were going in for supper, Chris could even understand why she'd been upset about not being on the drive. Had her father not been injured she would have been on that trip and Chris couldn't fault her for being put out at having a stranger her father picked up in a saloon doing the job she was supposed to have done.

Once inside, Frankie went to the kitchen to see if her mother needed any last minute help and Chris found himself in the sitting room with Evers. "Did Frankie take care of you?" Evers asked with a smile as he poured Chris a drink.

"Yes, sir, she did." Chris took the glass the man offered him and took a drink not at all surprised to find the whiskey of the highest quality; Evers was certainly generous considering he was all but a stranger. "Frankie showed me around. You sure do have a nice place here, Mr. Evers."

Evers nodded. "Thank you. We've worked hard to get it this point. Lily and I weren't much more than kids ourselves when we started.

"I grew up on a farm. I never cared for it, but horses are a different matter. I wouldn't mind a little place of my own someday." Settling down on a place like Evers wasn't something Chris thought about too much, but he figured he couldn't bum around his entire life.

Evers raised an eyebrow. "Is one day any day soon?"

Chris laughed and shook his head. "No, sir. I've still got a lot of traveling to do before I think about that."

They spent another ten minutes or so in conversation before they were interrupted by the two youngest Evers children, Jo and Charlie. Both had dark blonde hair and were several years younger than Frankie and Billie; Charlie proudly told Chris she was eight while he guessed Jo to be around twelve. The two young ladies controlled the conversation until they were called into the dining room for supper.

Chris followed the Evers into the dining room where the rest of the family, including Bates, had already gathered. Everyone was taking their seats when Evers looked around the room. "Where's Billie?"

Chris also looked around and noticed Billie wasn't the only one absent. A knot settled in his gut when he realized Buck was nowhere to be seen either. His mind instantly jumped to an all-too-likely conclusion and he barely suppressed a groan. Buck wasn't that stupid. Was he?

"Maybe she don't realize how late it is," Charlie offered giving her father an innocent smile.

"Maybe," he replied giving his youngest a smile in return but Chris could tell the man was thinking the same thing he was. He exchanged a look with his wife and Chris saw the woman sort of shake her head. "I think I'll go see what's keeping her. No need to wait supper for us," he called walking out of the room and moving pretty quickly for a man with a cane.

Chris hesitated a moment before he started to follow. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said with a nod to Misses Evers. "I'll see what's holdin' Buck up too."

Chris hurried after Evers suddenly fearing Buck was about to meet up with another shotgun. Part of him couldn't help but think Buck deserved anything the man wanted to do to him, but the other part kept thinking he'd grown fond of having Buck around. Maybe he could keep Evers from killing Buck at least. "Uh, Mister Evers . . . ."

Evers stopped and turned and Chris was surprised to see the man didn't look nearly as upset as Chris had anticipated; grim, yes, but not angry. "Chris, how easy is that friend of yours persuaded?"

"Persuaded to do what?"

"Persuaded by the fairer sex."

Chris grimaced. "Very easily."

Evers sighed and started walking again. "Chris, I don't know your friend very well, but I do know my daughter . . . ."

Evers was cut off by a squeal coming from the barn. Chris froze but Evers sucked in a breath and burst through the barn doors. "Bille Jean Evers, what do you think you're doing?"

Up until that point Chris had held on to the hope that Buck had more sense than to do what everyone above the age of consent was sure he was doing, but at that moment all hope died. He followed Evers inside and found Buck and Billie tangled up together in a pile of hay. The girl was still fully clothed, but Buck's shirt was almost half off and it was obvious that much more than friendly chat had been going on. They both looked guilty as sin.

"Daddy," Billie gasped as she and Buck both jumped to their feet.

"Mister Evers . . . ."

"I don't want to hear any excuses or explanations right now," Evers snapped. Silence took hold of the barn and Chris could tell Evers was trying to compose himself. After a minute he looked at his daughter. "Billie, go back to the house. We'll talk about this later."

Billie bit her lip and looked at Buck. "But . . . ."

"Billie," Evers said sternly, his tone so much like the one Chris had often heard from his own father. "Go inside."

Billie pulled a bit of hay from her hair and nodded, giving Buck one last look before she left. Evers then turned his attention to Buck. Buck shifted nervously and tried to straighten up his half-buttoned shirt.

Evers sighed heavily. "Mister Wilmington, I have to say I'm disappointed."

Buck grimaced and glanced at Chris. Chris merely shrugged. He'd been willing to protest if it looked like Evers might kill Buck, but since it seemed Evers didn't have death or dismemberment in mind for his friend, he was willing to stay out of it. If Buck wanted to run off with the boss's daughter, Buck was going to have to deal with it.

"You're a charming young man and I know my daughter can be very persuasive, even so, I'd hoped you could show a little more self-control. You did only meet the girl a few hours ago, and you will be leaving soon."

Buck sighed and ran a hand through his hair dislodging several pieces of hay. "All I can say is I'm sorry, Mister Evers. I meant no disrespect."

"No disrespect? So you intended to stick around here, with Billie, permanently?"

Chris had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing; even in the dim lantern light, he could tell that Buck paled at the mere suggestion.

"Umm, no, sir, I only meant . . . . "

"I know exactly what you meant, young man." He sighed and turned around to look at Chris. "I think, under the circumstances, it would be best if you two boys moved on as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," Chris answered hardly believing Buck was getting off that easy.

Evers turned back to Buck. "I trust you agree, Mister Wilmington?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Absolutely."

"Good." His next comment was directed at Chris. "Stop by the house on your way out."

As soon as Evers was gone Buck started trying to explain things again, and just like their former boss, Chris found he wasn't interested in hearing Buck's excuses. "Forget it, Buck. Let's just get outta here."

It didn't take long before they were both packed and ready to ride out. Buck tried once more to explain, and once again Chris wasn't ready to hear it. Sure he'd planned on leaving in the morning, but he would have much rather left in the morning after a good meal and good nights sleep. Somehow leaving after dark and before dinner just wasn't the same. And it was all Buck's fault.

Chris was surprised to see Evers on the porch waiting for them as they passed the house. He came down the steps and handed Chris a bundle that the younger man suspected contained food. "I'm sorry it had to end this way, boys. I hated to send you off with nothing."

"Thank you, Mister Evers."

Evers offered his hand. "If you ever find yourselves back this way again and you're in need of a job, don't hesitate to look me up. I'll just make sure I send Billie off somewhere first."

Chris smiled, amazed at how calmly the man was handling things. "I'll keep it in mind."

"See you, Chris. Buck."

Buck tipped his hat. "Sir."

They were outside of the ranch gate before Buck said anything else and that was preceded by blowing out a breath. "I tell you, Chris, for a second there I thought that I was gonna be meetin' up with another shotgun."

"I wouldn't have blamed him," Chris replied still not in the mood to talk about what had happened between Buck and the girl.

"I'm sorry, Chris, but . . . ."

"No," Chris snapped cutting Buck off. "I don't want to hear it right now."

"But, Chris . . . ."

"Not now, Buck. Please, just, not now." He needed to stew on things a little while longer before he'd feel up to hearing Buck's excuses. Maybe in the morning. Or maybe not.

 **A/N: I didn't abandon it; I just sort of forgot about it.**


	8. July 30th

July 30th

A day and a half later Chris had decided he still wasn't in the mood to listen to Buck, and he wasn't sure why. Sure he was aggravated that he'd been run off before he'd been properly fed and he'd missed a night of sleep in a free bed, but they'd been planning on leaving anyway. It wasn't as though Buck had screwed up a lasting thing for them. His behavior with Billie may have thrown their plans off a bit, but it was only a bit.

After more than a day of thinking the situation out, Chris finally decided what he felt was sheer disbelief. He was starting to think Buck would do anything, anything, for a woman, and Chris couldn't fathom that. Of course, Chris had known since almost the time he'd met Buck the man had a love of the fairer sex, but after seeing his attitude about Rosie after meeting up with a shotgun, then sneaking off with Billie with her father no more than a couple a hundred yards away, and Chris was deciding Buck just wasn't normal. There was no reason, short of maybe love, for a man to act the way Buck did, and he knew it wasn't love driving Buck.

Chris finally came to the conclusion that he just wasn't in the mood to hear Buck try to rationalize his actions and as a result, he hadn't said much since leaving the ranch. He hadn't refused to talk, but talk was definitely strained and nothing like their normal chat was. Buck had accepted that at first but as they were making camp the second night after being politely told to leave the Lazy E he finally decided to push the issue.

Buck was building a fire and Chris was sullenly looking after the horses. As the younger man coaxed the fire to life, Buck asked about supper and Chris responded to all questions with grunts or short, clipped answers. Once he had the flames going, Buck sat back on his heels with a sigh. "Alright. How long are you gonna stay mad at me?"

"I'm not mad."

Buck scoffed. "Well, you sure at actin' like yourself."

"I'm sorry," Chris replied shortly.

"So am I," Buck said. "And I think I've told you that at least ten times."

"And I believe you."

"Then why aren't you saying anything? You ain't strung more than five words at a time together since we left the Lazy E."

"There's nothin' to say."

Buck stood and dropped his eyes to the fire he'd just built. When he met Chris' gaze again he looked . . . plaintive. "I'm sorry, Chris. I don't know how else to say it."

Chris eyed Buck warily; he wasn't prepared to deal with Buck getting all repentant on him. In fact, he was thinking he'd prefer to see Buck go back to his devil-may-care attitude. At least he knew how to deal with that Buck. This Buck he wasn't familiar with and he wasn't sure he wanted to get familiar with him. "You don't have to say anything else. It's fine."

The truth was it would be fine. Chris just needed to brood for a couple of days and then he'd get over it and they could go back to being the way they'd always been. There was no need to get into a deep discussion about anything or make anymore apologizes. Maybe Buck was a little crazy but Chris hadn't let that bother him up to now; no reason to start now.

"So that's why you stopped talkin'? Because it's fine?"

Chris heaved a sigh. "I swear, sometimes you act just like a girl."

Buck sort of smirked. "Blame it on my raisin'."

"I do."

"So you gonna tell me what's really buggin' you?"

"It's fine."

"Come on, Chris, if there's somethin' you want to say, just say it."

Chris had finally had enough of the nagging and stalked over to the fire; if Buck wanted him to unload on him, he could do that. "One night, Buck," he snapped. "It was one night. Could you not keep your pants done up for one night?"

"What's that mean? We weren't doin' anything."

Chris shot him a look. Last time he checked, a roll in the hay, by any definition, wasn't exactly nothing.

"Serious," Buck added. "I wouldn't have done that."

"You did plenty. And how would I know you wouldn't have done that. Hammond shot you and it wasn't enough to keep you away from . . . whatever her name was."

"Rosie."

"Rosie." Chris sighed again. "I like a woman as much as the next man, Buck, but not at the risk of my own life."

"Hammond wasn't that serious. He did only use birdshot and Evers . . . okay, maybe I got a little carried away with Billie but . . . ." Buck suddenly grinned. "Did you see her, Chris? How could a man do anything else?"

Chris stared at Buck in dumbfounded silence for a long moment before he threw his hands up in the air. "You can't help it, can you? You really can't help yourself, and you're gonna get yourself killed one day. You know that, right?"

Buck shrugged and fought another grin. "There are worse ways to go."

Buck looked completely serious about that and Chris could only shake his head. "You're crazy, Buck."

"And you jump headlong into barroom brawls so what does that make you?"

The two stared at each other for a long moment and then Chris found himself fighting a grin of his own. It was a valid point. While he'd never been one to start things, more than once he'd pushed back when it hadn't really been necessary. There'd even been times he'd kept something going just hoping someone would throw a punch, especially when Ella had been around. The vice may have been different but really his sense of self-preservation was about as shoddy as Bucks. He finally let the grin come through and looked at Buck. "I guess we make quite a pair, don't we."

"Well, why do you think I helped you out that day? Something told me you were as crazy as me."

That was one of the dumbest things Chris had ever heard, and oddly enough it made perfect sense. "Alright, so we're both gonna die one day."

Buck nodded. "Probably in a brawl after someone catches me making love to his woman."

Chris laughed. "The thought of that should probably bother me much more than it does."

"So we're good?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "I think I told you that this morning."

"You did, but I believe you now."

Chris scoffed; yep, Buck definitely acted like a girl sometimes. "Yeah, we're fine. How 'bout we eat so we can get some sleep?"

"Sure," Buck said and without another word, he started pulling what would pass for supper out of their packs like the conversation they'd just finished had never happened.

They were both quiet as they cooked the beans and bacon, but the silence was a companionable silence; nothing like the tension-filled silence that had hovered over them since leaving the Lazy E. Chris was surprised to find he was glad for the change. He may have insisted everything was fine before, but if he was honest with himself he'd have to admit he was glad Buck had pushed him out of his broodiness. He'd gotten used to having Buck around and crazy or not, Chris knew he would miss him if they had a real falling out.

"Can I ask you something, Buck?" he said once they'd sat down with their food.

Buck shrugged. "Sure."

"So what is it about women that make them so irresistible?"

Buck looked up from his plate like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "What doesn't make them irresistible? Their shape, their touch, their smell, their minds . . . ." Buck trailed off with a grin. "I know I get a little carried away every now and then, but how can you not?"

"Don't get me wrong, I like spending the night holdin' one too, but if a man was chasing me with a shotgun, I think I'd just have to let her go."

Buck chuckled. "You don't know Rosie."

Chris rolled his eyes again but couldn't help laugh. "I guess I just don't understand why, Buck. Why can't you say no?"

Buck seemed to give the question serious thought and after a long minute sighed. "I don't know. I guess . . . ." He sighed. "You know my mother . . . you know Mama worked in a brothel when I was born."

Chris nodded; he'd found that out soon after he and Buck had started riding together. Some fool in a saloon had made the mistake of calling one of the girls a whore. Chris had learned quickly that one sure way of getting Buck's back up, and fast, was to use that word in his presence.

"I don't know what you know about the business, Chris, but a lot of those places ain't the best. Sometimes they're treated like they're property and there ain't no easy way out once they get caught up in it. It wasn't like that where I grew up. The madam there really cared about her girls; she took care of them, and if they wanted to leave, they were free to go. When I was about twelve or so she left with this man that had come through town and Mama took over as the madam. She treated 'em just like Rita had. I ain't gonna say that's the best place to grow up in, but I learned something there. I learned those girls are people. They all have a story and feelings and . . . ." Buck stopped again and smiled wistfully.

"I don't know, Chris, I guess I just always figured they all have a story. I saw a lot woman growing up. Some of them were hurting, so of them were broken, some of them were proud, but they were all beautiful; every one of them." He looked back at Chris. "Does it not ever just blow you away at how beautiful they all are?"

"Guess I really never thought that way. Where I come from they were all respectable. And all of them huntin' a husband. They all expected you to want to settle down and work a shop or raise corn and kids. I ain't never had much interest in that."

"Too many fights left to get into?"

Chris grinned. "Somethin' like that. I just figured there was too much country to see to spend my life on the same patch of ground."

"No interest in corn or kids then?"

"Corn? Never; I've seen enough of that to last a lifetime. Kids?" Chris shrugged. "Maybe. One day. When I'm older."

Buck grinned. "Speakin' of gettin' older, it's your birthday tomorrow."

Chris almost groaned. "The way the last couple of weeks have played out I'm not sure if I ought to be happy about that or not."

"It's what we've been planning on for a whole month now, and we still ain't had that one good night we promised ourselves."

"That's true." Regardless of what he said, it didn't really take much to convince Chris to spend a night drinking. If there was a woman involved it was all the better. Besides, there was a gleam in Buck's eye that Chris just couldn't ignore. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I believe you once said something about makin' up for all those birthdays we've been ignoring."

Chris was probably old enough to know better but he wasn't old enough to care yet. He grinned at his friend across the fire. "I should say no . . . but why not? Like you said, we haven't had that one good night yet."

"Now you're talkin'."

"Just as long as you promise me one thing; if there are any women involved, I won't end up gettin' chased with a shotgun."

Buck's grin grew. "Don't you worry about that. There's plenty of women out there that don't have a crazy lover or a father hangin' around."


	9. July 31st

July 31st

"Your glass is empty."

Chris looked at the girl beside him and grinned. She had the cutest pout on her face as if his empty glass was the most devastating thing that could happen. "I guess we better do somethin' about that then," he told her.

The pout instantly left her and was replaced by a dazzling smile. "Jake," she called to the bartender. "Chris needs another beer."

No sooner had she spoken than the empty mug was taken away and replaced with a full one. Chris lifted the mug and considered it a moment before taking a drink. "You know," he said setting the mug back on the bar. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think the two of you had done this before."

"Next thing you know you'll be accusing me of trying to get you to spend money," she replied in mock indignation.

"I'd never do that," Chris told her as he put an arm around her and pulled her a little closer. He knew how the game was played and they both knew it. No one would say a word about him monopolizing her time as long as he kept spending money. It didn't matter if that money was on a game, a dance, or a drink, as long as he paid, she would stay right where she was. "Can I buy you another?"

That smile came back. "By all means."

So far the night had been as close to perfect as Chris could imagine one being. He and Buck had arrived in Ruby Creek this afternoon, and Chris was starting to think their streak of bad luck was finally coming to an end. Since they both had a pocket full of money, they'd decided to take full advantage of it. A trip to the bathhouse was followed by a haircut and a shave, and then they'd sought out the biggest steak they could find. After supper, they'd made their way to the Jeweled Lady where they'd shared a drink or two before they'd each found a poker game to join. Chris had done well during the time he'd played, and judging by what he'd seen of Buck, the younger man had done equally well.

It was during the poker game Chris had caught his first look at Susanne, the young woman currently beside him. It was her smile that he first took notice of, but it hadn't taken him long to see the rest of her. Her hair was dark, almost black, her eyes deep chocolate, and the blue of her dress perfectly complemented her coloring and showcased a remarkable figure. It was her easy sarcastic wit that had really hooked him though. Most saloon girls knew how to hold their own, but Chris had the feeling that any man who dared cross Susanne would regret it. Chris had always appreciated a little fire in a woman and had plans to see just how well he could get to know Susanne before tomorrow morning.

As soon as the bartender delivered Susanne's drink Chris gently tugged her arm. "Come on."

Chris suspected a man would really have to grab Susanne's interest if he expected any more attention than what she was giving him now. While she seemed to be enjoying him, Chris didn't think he'd proven himself that interesting yet. He was confident though. He may not be Buck Wilmington, but he'd always managed to hold his own just fine. Still, Susanne needed just a little more work, and it was hard to do that while standing at a crowded bar. A table would give them some semblance of peace, however, and that's where Chris led Susanne now.

As the couple made their way across the barroom, Chris glanced around to see if Buck was anywhere around. Every time Chris had spotted Buck since they had split off earlier in the evening, Buck had looked as though he was feeling no pain, but Chris was still curious about him. It was Buck, and given how their luck had been going, Chris wanted to make sure there was no cause for concern. Concerns were unwarranted tonight, though. A quick look around the noisy smoke-filled room found Buck at the far end of the bar, a girl on each arm. A second showed Chris there didn't appear to be an angry man in sight. Chris bit back a grin; Buck was doing just fine.

Chris shifted his attention back to Susanne, and the two of them had almost reached an empty table when Chris felt a hard shove come from behind him. He staggered forward a step jarring the beer he held, spilling a good amount of the liquid out of the glass. Most of the beer fell on Chris, wetting the thigh of his pants, but some splashed to the floor hitting Susanne's shoe and stocking.

Chris grimaced in annoyance and started to say something to Susanne but was cut off by a gruff "watch where you're going" from behind him.

The annoyance suddenly became insult and Chris whirled around ready to make someone eat their words. Larabee glare in place, he looked at the man around him and almost immediately found the guilty party. There wasn't much that set him apart, but there were a few subtle things that told Chris this man was the one he wanted. He had a too proud tilt to his chin and a hardness along his jawline that spoke of a man who was used to getting his way, and the flint-like look in his eyes seemed to be daring Chris to challenge him. This was a man that was clearly used to stepping on other people, and Chris never had liked being stepped on. He was bigger than Chris but not much, close to Buck's size. Chris had taken on bigger.

"Excuse you," he said loud enough for several people around them to take notice. "I guess you didn't see me there. Understandable in a crowd like this, but a man would have to be blind not to notice the lady." The man's eyes narrowed, but Chris met the flint-like gaze head on and took a step closer. "A blind man really should be more careful when he goes out. That kind of behavior would upset some folks, but I'm sure if you were just to apologize we can all go on about our business."

A good deal of the noise in the saloon died down, and everyone's attention was turned to Chris and his opponent. The man scoffed. "Apologize? To who? You, saddle tramp? Or maybe it's the whore that's upset?"

Chris could no longer see where Buck had been standing earlier, but he didn't need to see Buck to know the man was already moving his way, ready and willing to back him up if need be. "Well, I don't see any whores here, just a lady who got a little messed up when you got to actin' careless. So why don't you be a good boy and apologize."

"You sure get riled up over an accident."

The man's tone was even, but Chris could tell that a temper was starting to boil under the surface, and his grin grew. "Oh, you ain't seen me riled yet. Apologize."

"She ain't worth the breath."

Wrong answer. Chris' eyes never left the other man's as he calmly took what was left of the beer and tossed it at the man's feet, soaking his boots. That was all that was needed to bring that temper to the surface. The man stared down at his boots in disbelief for a moment before his face turned red with anger. "Why you . . . ."

The man's hand dropped to his side but Chris had been expecting that. Chris was already gripping the butt of his own gun almost before the other man had so much as touched his. "I wouldn't do that."

"Not unless you want to deal with both of us," Buck said from behind Chris.

Chris smiled. He'd expected Buck to be there, but it was still nice to have it confirmed. Buck was probably showing off his gun too.

"Now," Chris continued once he was sure the man wasn't going to try something stupid. "Why don't you apologize to the lady, and by on your way."

The man's eyes darted between him and Buck for a second before he finally mumbled a half-hearted apology in Susanne's direction.

"That wasn't so hard was it," Chris asked trying to sound as innocent as possible. "Now get out of here."

The man gave him another glare before he slowly backed away from Chris. After a few steps, he hit another man on the arm. The two exchanged some quiet words before he sent Chris one last glare. "This ain't over, cowboy."

Chris stiffened at the term but made no comment as the two men pushed their way out of the saloon. Once the men left talk slowly started up, and before long the room was once again filled with noise.

"Thanks, Buck," Chris said finally turning to look at his friend.

"Don't mention it," Buck replied. "Apart from this, you doin' okay."

Chris' eyes went to Susanne. "Never better."

Buck followed his eyes and grinned. "Good luck, stud."

"You too."

"I don't need luck," Buck said confidently. He slapped Chris on the shoulder as he started back to his own young woman. "Don't bother to wait up for me."

"Likewise," Chris called. He went back over to the table where Susanne was waiting and pulled out a chair for her. She laughed as she sat down. "Aren't you the gentleman."

"Not at all," he said. "My mama was just able to beat a few good manners into me."

"You're a cut above some of them that come in here," she said taking his hand. "Better lookin' too."

Chris rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb before lifting it and pressing a light kiss on her fingers. "How much is it going to cost me to keep you around the rest of the night?"

Susanne chuckled as she took a drink. "What's your definition of the rest of the night?"

"Does that matter?"

"Of course." She gave him a coy smile. "If by the rest of the night you mean closing time, that all depends on how fast do you drink? If you mean sunrise, well, don't drink too fast. I'd like you mostly sober when we leave here."

Chris smiled; apparently, he'd grabbed her attention after all. "Any preferences?"

"Uh-huh; take it easy. As I said, I want you mostly sober."

"What time can we leave?"

"Two."

It was almost midnight now. "That's a lot of time to kill."

"Another drink will help."

Chris grinned and made his way back to the bar. He could drink a lot before he crossed over to drunk.

XXXXXXX

Closing time found Chris and Susanne walking down the boardwalk towards the hotel where Susanne kept a room. As Susanne had requested, Chris had remained mostly sober, but he could tell that his senses were slightly dull from what drinking he had done. The best way he could describe it was as pleasantly numb. He was still sharp enough to have plenty of expectations as to what the rest of the night would hold.

The saloon was on the town's main street, but the hotel Susanne lived in was a couple of streets over. A few other people had been on the main street with them as the saloons closed, and Chris held Susanne's hand as they walked along, but once they left Front Street they were virtually alone. Away from what few eyes had been out with them just minutes before Chris slipped his arm around Susanne and pulled her close, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"In a hurry," Susanne asked with a smirk as she looked up at him.

"Hmmm, you have no idea." He'd been waiting for this night for a long time. He moved his lips down to her neck and Susanne pulled away with a giggle.

"Chris, stop. You can wait until we're in the room."

"That would have been the smart thing to do."

They both started at the unexpected voice, and Chris sighed with irritation when a familiar figure emerged from the alley beside them. It looked like the man in the saloon had been serious when he'd said things weren't finished between them. The only problem was Chris disagreed. The sooner the man moved along the happier he would be.

"Looks like you're gonna have some fun with your fancy lady." The man leered at Chris. "I got a bone to pick with you first, boy."

Chris grinned. "Is that so? Too bad I ain't got the time for it." His arm still around Susanne Chris sidestepped the man. "Have a nice night."

Susanne leaned in and whispered something to him but his alcohol addled brain had a hard time making out her words; before he could sort anything out, he felt heavy hands yank him away from the girl. A yell and several unladylike words came from Susanne and the next thing Chris knew his gun was gone, and he was facing the man he was rapidly developing a strong dislike for. He then understood what Susanne was trying to tell him; their friend wasn't alone. There were two men with him. One was currently holding on to Susanne. Meanwhile, Chris found himself in the iron grip of the other. The man holding him had twisted Chris' right arm behind him at a painful angle, and his other arm was tightly wound around Chris' neck. His reflexes might still have been slow, but Chris' head was rapidly clearing and he was painfully aware of the fact that now was not a good time to be pleasantly numb.

The man from the saloon leaned down slightly so he was looking Chris in the eye. "I said I had a bone to pick with you. Why don't you be a good boy and listen?" He chuckled before taking a draw off his cigar and blowing a mouthful of smoke in Chris' face.

Chris shut his eyes against the sting of the smoke and was unaware a beefy fist was coming his way until he felt it slam into his stomach. The man holding him suddenly turned him loose, allowing Chris to double over as he tried to catch his breath. Chris hardly had time to realize he was free before the fist struck again, this time knocking his head to one side. The hits plus the alcohol was too much for Chris and he went to his knees only to be rewarded with a kick in his lower back. Pain shot through his back as Chris desperately tried to gather his wits. He knew he wasn't in the best shape for a fight, but he also knew if he didn't do something he'd, at the very least, be beat to a bloody pulp. The worst could be much worse.

No sooner had the pain in his back started to fade than Chris was yanked back to his feet. Chris knew what was coming and raised his arm to try and block the hit . . . only the blow didn't come. Instead of taking another hit Chris felt himself being pushed back, and this time he felt no pain when he heard the sound of a fist finding its mark.

"You boys ought to learn to play nice," A new voice broke in. "Two against one ain't hardly fair odds." The words were followed by another blow landing, a grunt of pain, and yet another punch.

Chris' head cleared quickly once he was given a moment to get his bearings, and he was able to steady Buck when his friend bumped into him after being on the receiving end of a punch himself. "Took you long enough to get here," he mumbled as Buck regained his footing.

"I did the best I could," Buck got out before they were both rushed again.

Seeing the odds had been evened out in Chris' favor, the third man turned Susanne loose and rushed Chris, hitting him in his cheek and opening up a cut.

"What did I say about brawls?" Buck asked as he pulled Chris' attacker off of him, and hit him with a right cross. "Women seem to be safer."

Chris shrugged, a trickle of blood running down his cheek. "I was tryin'."

Buck scoffed and all other talk was cut off as both men faced their opponents. Chris briefly wondered what had happened to Susanne, but all his attention was soon taken up by the three men who seemed bound and determined to take his and Buck's heads off. Chris grinned to himself as he jumped on one of the men. Three against two seemed just about fair.


	10. August 1st

August 1st

Chris groaned as the sunlight filled the window overhead. Turning over on his side he turned his face into the threadbare pillow to block out an offensive light. What kind of fool would build a jail with their windows facing east he wondered. What kind of fool needs to worry about where the windows in a jail are located, a voice in his head replied. Chris growled; he hadn't given the voice of reason permission to speak, and he wasn't in the mood to hear from it right now.

"You awake?" Buck asked, his voice coming from the direction of the cot directly opposite Chris'.

"No," he snapped in no mood to be sociable either.

Now that he was awake, Chris was becoming acutely aware of the various aches and pains on his body, and it did nothing to improve his mood. There was absolutely no good reason for him to be waking up in jail feeling like he'd been dragged behind a horse. He didn't even have a hangover. Once again Chris couldn't help but think it was unjust to feel this bad when there wasn't a hangover involved. He wished it were possible to burrow deeper into the cot, but jails weren't generally known for their comfortable accommodations and the cot he now lay on was no exception.

"Sound awake to me."

"Shut up, Buck."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine." There was just enough mirth in Buck's voice to set Chris' already frayed nerves on edge. There was no call for Buck to be this happy. None.

"Buck," he ground out in warning.

"Fine. Lay over there and sulk."

"I'm not sulking," Chris mumbled.

"Yeah, you are." Chris rolled over on his back and shot Buck a look that did nothing but make Buck's grin grow. "Morning."

Chris sighed. "You weren't who I was supposed to wake up next to today."

"You weren't exactly my first pick either, Stud."

"And you look terrible."

Buck gingerly rubbed his left cheek, now colored in brilliant shades of red and yellow. "You should find a mirror."

"I think I'd rather not," Chris commented. He could feel the bruises along his jaw and eye as well as several other places on his body.

Buck nodded toward the door that separated the cells from the sheriff's office. "Someone's out there."

"Bout time," Chris grumbled as he stiffly got to his feet and limped over to Buck. He should probably be grateful he wasn't more beat up than he was, but it was hard to look on the bright side stuck in a cell.

As it turned out, two against three hadn't been as even a matchup as Chris had first thought. He and Buck had held their own a good while, but eventually, the tide had started to turn in favor of the three. If Susanne hadn't darted off as soon as the third man let her go and found a deputy, Chris was sure the fight wouldn't have ended until he and Buck were both bloody pulps. He was thankful for the girl's interference, but the deputy Susanne brought back frowned upon fighting in a public alley, even in self-defense. He insisted they all be held until everything could be sorted out. Chris had been more than vocal on his feelings concerning that matter, and the few choice names he'd given the deputy hadn't done much to endear him to the man. So here he was, waking up in jail for the second time in a month, no Susanne and no hangover, just Buck, the snores of three other men, and too much sunlight.

Once he was on the other side of the cell, Chris could hear the voices Buck had mentioned although no clear words could be made out. "Maybe we'll be out of here soon."

"Let's hope the sheriff is more understanding than his deputy."

Chris grunted in reply and hoped there would be no more interaction with the young man. He didn't mind spending the night in a cell when he deserved it, but sleeping on a hard cot just because some upstart deputy had refused to listen to reason soured his mood. He, Buck, and Susanne had all tried to explain things to the deputy when he'd brought them in, but no matter what they said the boy staunchly maintained that any decisions about who was released would have to be made by the sheriff himself. When he'd been informed, in a rather condensing tone, that he and Buck would just have to wait for the Sheriff to come back in the morning, it had taken every ounce of self-control Chris possessed not to deck the boy one good time. Another encounter with the deputy might just end with Chris spending an earned night in jail.

"What do you think . . . ." Buck was cut off when the door to the office opened and a man of about forty-five, rail-thin with a handlebar mustache, entered the room. He stopped in front of their cell and crossed his arms, letting his eyes go between the two cells before his gaze finally settled on them.

"Larabee and Wilmington," he said.

Neither Chris nor Buck could tell if it had been a question or a statement, so Chris merely nodded curtly and Buck offered an "I'm Wilmington."

The man who Chris presumed to be the sheriff smiled and took out a set of keys. "Come on out, boys," he said opening the cell. "And congratulations. You both look to be in decent shape given that you tangled with those three a few hours ago."

"Does this happen a lot?" Buck asked.

"No, but it's happened before. The last man Lincoln jumped spent the night with Doc, and he wasn't walking around the next morning. You ought to be grateful you had a friend, Larabee."

Without another word, the sheriff went back into his office and Buck and Chris grabbed their hats and followed him. Chris couldn't help but notice Buck wasn't moving with much more ease than he was.

By the time they'd hobbled into the office, the sheriff had taken out their gun belts and passed them over. "I am sorry about the inconvenience," he said. "But don't think too badly of Clark. He's a good boy, and he's got the makings of a great lawman, but he's still a little green and more than a little conscientious."

"It's fine," Buck said. "We've spent the night in worse."

Chris wasn't going to say anything until he felt Buck nudge his leg with the tip of his boot. "Yeah, no harm done," Chris mumbled.

"I'm glad you feel that way. Were you boys planning on heading out soon?" the sheriff asked.

Chris had been putting on his gun belt but looked up sharply at the question. "You askin' us to leave?" He was getting tired of getting thrown out of towns because he kept running into the resident crazy folk.

The sheriff shook his head. "No, but based on what Clark and the girl told me, I won't be able to hold those three in there for more than a day or two. And I don't think either one of you is in any shape to take another run in with them."

Chris looked over at Buck and found the younger man already eyeing him. The sheriff made a good point. Chris doubted he was . . . whatever his name was favorite person right now. It probably would be wise to make tracks before he was released from jail. That meant he was unlikely to get another chance with Susanne, but that seemed to be the way his luck ran now. He finally nodded. "Understood, sheriff. Thanks for the warning."

Chris stepped out onto the boardwalk, blinking at the early morning sunlight. Feeling a dull throb start to develop behind his eyes, he pulled the brim of his hat down lower and sighed.

"I guess that answers the question of what we do next," Buck said also readjusting his hat.

"You mean packing up and moving out. Again." Getting thrown out of town was getting thrown out of town, even when it was done politely.

"That's a shame too. Didn't hardly get any time with Malinda at all."

Chris grunted in agreement, assuming Malinda was one of the girls from last night; he felt the same way about Susanne.

The two slowly made their way back to the hotel. They were both sore, but the more they walked, the easier it got. Just before they reached their destination, a familiar figure appeared blocking their way. Chris stopped suddenly. She wasn't dressed as provocatively as she'd been last time he'd seen her, but the smile was unmistakable.

"I see it didn't take long for the sheriff to see reason," she said.

"Not long at all," Chris replied returning her smile. "You have anything to do with that?"

Susanne shrugged. "Maybe."

The two held each other's gaze until Buck broke in. "Seein' as how we haven't been formally introduced, I'm Buck Wilmington, ma'am."

Last night when they'd been trying to reason with a, in Chris' opinion, still wet behind the ears deputy, no one had been too concerned about who knew whom.

Susanne started at his comment almost as though she hadn't even realized Buck was around and both her and Chris turned to look at Buck. "Nice to meet you, Buck. Formally." She gave him a smile too, but unless Chris was imagining things, it wasn't quite as bright as the ones she gave him, despite the apparent admiration in Buck's eyes. Susanne's attention quickly shifted back to Chris, and it was then Chris knew he definitely wasn't imagining things.

"Why don't you get outta here, Buck," Chris said feeling a sense of satisfaction that it was he, not Buck, who was commanding Susanne's attention.

The glare Buck gave him, a mixture of jealousy and admiration, told Chris his friend had noticed the change in Susanne as well. "Don't forget what we talked about," Buck said with a huff before continuing on to the hotel.

They both watched Buck disappear inside and then Susanne looked at Chris. "I hope I didn't hurt his feelings."

"A little rejection is good for him." He looked at Susanne again. "I think I owe you thanks for what you did last night."

Susanne reached up and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. "I was glad to do it. It's much too pretty a face to get all banged up."

Chris chuckled. "Well, I don't know how pretty it is, but I agree it shouldn't get banged up."

Susanne moved her hand from his cheek and drew his head down to kiss him.

Chris grinned when she pulled away. "Right out here in the open? You're gonna ruin your reputation."

"What reputation?" She said just before her lips once again found his. Chris was starting to think that there might be a way to salvage his lost night with Susanne when her hand found a particularly tender spot on his torso; a spot where the toe of a boot had met his side. He instinctively jumped away from the pain her touch caused and almost immediately started cussing himself for breaking their kiss.

Susanne winced when she realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry. I guess you're pretty sore today."

"A little."

"That's a shame. I guess you'll be leaving soon."

Chris nodded. "Probably today. The sheriff thought it'd be a good idea for us to be gone before he had to turn the other three loose."

"Probably so, although that's a shame too."

Chris was painfully aware of that fact and made one last effort to salvage what might have been. "I do have a room if you wanted to come in for a while."

Susanne grinned. "It's tempting, but I don't think you're really in any shape for that right now."

"I could suffer through it."

Susanne laughed. "That wouldn't be much fun, and you know it."

Chris shrugged. "You can't blame me for tryin'."

"Oh, I would have been disappointed if you hadn't, and it really is tempting."

"Thanks again for helping last night."

"It was my pleasure," she said before giving him one last kiss. "Bye, Chris. I'll always be sorry it happened this way, but if you ever make it this way again . . . . "

"I'll be sure to find you." This time he kissed her, and when they broke apart, Susanne stepped away.

"See you, cowboy," she said with a smile. Chris watched her walk away, and for once he didn't even care that he'd been labeled a cowboy. Once she was out of sight, he sighed and went inside wondering if he'd always feel a little regretful their night together hadn't happened.

xxxxxxx

It didn't take long for Chris and Buck to pack, and they soon decided with nothing to keep them in town they might as well put as much distance between themselves and the men they'd fought with as they could. They stopped in the dining room and got a meal, but as soon as they were done, they were back on the trail. They spent the first couple of miles in silence, and Chris took the time to think back on the last month. He'd always had a knack for finding trouble, but the last few weeks had been ridiculous. If that's what came for trying to have a little fun for a birthday, he'd be better off to go back to ignoring them.

"You know, Buck," he said, breaking the silence. "I can say I've never had a birthday quite like that before."

Buck grinned. "You've never been with me before either."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I didn't even get in that much trouble with Ella." And there had been plenty of trouble with Ella.

Buck looked at him in mock indignation. "Didn't you hear the man say earlier you should be grateful you have a friend?"

"I think he was talkin' about Susanne," Chris commented dryly.

"Me, Susanne, what's the difference?"

"Do you really want me to tell you about that?" Chris asked with a smirk.

Buck almost looked offended until he caught Chris' look. He finally starting laughing. "Alright, I get your point. But it could have been worse."

"Yeah, I guess it could have been," Chris admitted. "But over the last month, I've been stabbed, you've been shot, I've been in a gunfight, and we've both spent at least one night in jail. The way this month has gone, I don't think I ever want to celebrate another birthday again."

"It wasn't that bad," Buck protested.

"It was bad enough. If you want to celebrate next year, I'm afraid you're on your own."

Buck smirked. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it, Buck, I'm not doin' it again."

Buck continued to grin. "Whatever you say, stud."

Chris meant it, no matter what Buck thought, he had no intention of doing anything like this again. It was a vow that lasted exactly eleven months.


End file.
